Trance (2013)

Gotchya films that spin on corkscrew narratives –- “Manchurian Candidate” is my favorite -– succeed only if we care about the characters and only if we dig the deep pit the screenwriters have tossed them into. Danny Boyle’s “Trance” is all crazy turns, pulled rugs, blown loyalties, and bad guys still gabbing after their skull has been shot off. The shocks and surprises hit so often and so outlandishly OTT, it passes suspense and becomes a comedic parade of drunken one-uppers. Numbness sets in. James McAvoy works at an auction house that falls prey to a heist just as a Renoir goes to sale. The work is seemingly lost and our hero is cracked on the skull, leading to memory loss. The heist master (Seymor Cassell) won’t have that and when torture fails, he hires a hypnotist (Rosario Dawson) to peer inside McAvoy’s brain. So to speak. The headachy flash edits are frantic and too hip. The flat characters don’t help. I really could have lived without ever hearing surround sound of vaginal hair being shaved. Boyle, it appears, could not. And if you can get past the firestorm finale without laughing to excess, I salute you. C

Closed Circuit (2013)

The successful conspiracy flick rests on the audience unsure of who to trust or how deep the conspirators –- be they Big Brother or Big Corp. -– lay buried. Endings are key. From “Conversation” to “Most Wanted Man,” if I’m not shaken paranoid, then what’s the point? There’s none in “Closed Circuit,” a meek flick about London spies putting two attorneys (Eric Bana and Rebecca Hall) through hell as they represent the Muslim suspect of a shop bombing. Upfront: The villains are ploddingly obvious, with Jim Broadbent all ham as a John Mitchell type with an ugly beard, and another Famous Name as a mentor who -– of course -– turns traitor. Zero suspense. And that’s surprising as Stephen Knight (“Dirty Pretty Things”) wrote the screenplay. I wanted a dark tale that left me breathless, but when our heroes meet in secret at a football match, surrounded by cameras, I was laughing. More so, the heroes are dumb. Who doesn’t question the sudden suicide of a pal working on a top secret case? No one here has seen a movie. And that’s the problem, the likely studio-mandated fix-it ender is so happy, it feels like every movie we’ve seen. C-

A Hard Day’s Night (1964)

“A Hard Day’s Night” has ultra-young Beatles Lennon, McCartney, Starr, and Harrison lampooning their own skyrocketing stardom in a “documentary” film that pops as if it were made yesterday. Not 40 years ago. It’s f’n brilliant, with whole chunks that must have bypassed ignorant censors of the day. “No, we’re just really good friends,” Starr insisting to multiple reporters, is a highlight. The question is never heard. It’s a celebration and satire of Beatlemania, never critical of the screaming fans, with Richard Lester’s camera following the guys as they trot around London doing all sorts of light mayhem. These guys loved each other and their fans, and the camera loves them. They are also truly funny, enjoying a joke or sight gag, at their own expense the better. When Lester films through camera viewfinders and monitors, capturing the Beatles in screen on screen, it seems the birth of all meta-humor and (relevant) MTV. Forty and it pops like new. Who else could do this but the Beatles? Lennon’s hallway banter. Harrison’s job interview. Ringo’s arrest. Paul’s grandpop. Unparalleled fun. A 

A Liar’s Autobiography (2012)

I love the hell out of Monty Python, the shows, the movies. I can’t get enough, even on repeat viewings. A wildly animated F.U. to the whole biopic genre, “A Liar’s Autobiography: The Untrue Story of Monty Python’s Graham Chapman” wants to be the M.P. version of the group’s founding member and leader’s life story, but it’s a pile of random tid-bits that don’t say much. Crazy fact: I learned more trivia about Chapman’s life and comedy impact in the “Making of…” documentary on this film than the film itself. That’s sounds like a Python satirical sketch. (Skip the movie! Watch the extras!) “Liar’s” never boring and much of the animation stuns – dig the section that represents Chapman kicking booze -- but there’s so little context I never got a hook on the man. A scene big on Python gore has toddler Chapman looking at the bodies of soldiers killed in a WWII plane crash. Why? Did he recall this a haunting memory? Who can tell when we’re told it’s fake? A letdown from a film I expected much from. C+

The Great Muppet Caper (1981)

“The Muppet Movie” behind him, clearly made for and dedicated to the unbounded imagination of children, literal and those of us north of 39, Jim Henson moved forward with “The Great Muppet Caper” as a 1940s mystery movie that’s honest to God something made for himself, with a wink of genius satire. Once again in the “We’re making a movie” vein, Kermit the Frog (Henson) and Fozzie Bear (Frank Oz) play twin (!) newspaper reporters who get caught up in a diamond heist masterminded by Charles Grodin against his diva sister (Diana Rigg) in London. Along the way, they meet Miss Piggy (also Oz), and end up staying in a hotel populated by other Muppets (Scooter, Animal, etc.), and ride bicycles, drive in a bus, break in into a museum, and skydive. The bike scene blew my 7-year-old mind in 1981, and still does. Henson directs this go-round and it’s just a magical romp that again let’s children be in on the joke, no cynicism. Happiness. Best gag: Kermit teaching a taxi driver (Beauregard) to, well, drive, when the guy does not understand straight from reverse. New films pale. A

Locke (2014)

“Locke” is a movie-making stunt that wins its dare. Writer-director Steven Knight (he penned “Eastern Promises”) has fashioned a real-time thriller that follows a construction engineer –- played by Tom Hardy -– fighting to keep all he owns and loves as he drives 90 minutes from Birmingham to London to witness the premature birth of his third child. No guns involved. The damage is emotional. The pending child is the product of a one-night stand. The mother is frantic. Hardy’s Ivan Locke -– we only see him inside his BMW, interacting by phone –- declares himself in control and refuses panic. But he must inform his wife of his transgression, assure his two sons all is well, and track the status of his massive work project -– a skyscraper concrete pouring -– that costs untold millions. Tense and without a wasted second, “Locke” booms loud on Hardy’s fierce performance as a man whose hubris is as destructive as negligence, a trait worn by his dead father who produced Ivan out of wedlock. Knight traps us tight inside that BMW with Locke as his life shreds as the minutes tick by, the most valiant action righting one’s life errors. However futile. Seemingly small, “Locke” is epic. A

Scoop (2006)

“Scoop” is a Woody Allen thing so forgettable and oh-so-Woody Allenish bland, I watched it the other day and only at the very, very end did I realize, “Oh, I have seen this before.” Folks, that never happens. And it stars Scarlett Johansson and Hugh Jackman. That’s some feat. SJ is a college newspaper reporter who finds herself on the trail of a possible serial killer who also happens to be a royal Brit (Jackman) and she falls for him, to the chagrin of her unlikely pal (Woody Allen), an old magician who entertains tourists who’d rather be in Vegas. Not London. The story idea seems solid, even if our reporter first has sex with her interviewees before interviews. I could guess this another Allen fetish, but college girls seem too old for him. It’s the execution. From the absolute lack of any suspense, odd for a thriller, to Allen’s shit nightclub jokes older than his leads. Snooze. What are the chances he wrote this in 1966 and updated not a word? C-

Get Carter (1971)

I am supposed to love “Get Carter,” the gritty Brit mob flick about a London enforcer (Michael Caine) going home to north England to kill the bastards who popped his connected brother. And, damn it, Caine is friggin’ brutal bad ass in the role, swinging a woman into bed or swinging a rifle into another man’s skull. But I just could not get into this film, directed by Mike Hodges – who made “Pulp” with Caine, and later “Flash Gordon.” So, I didn’t get “Carter.” There are too many trite names –- Alexes and Allans and Alberts –- and too many scenes where Caine’s Carter has to drive someone palace to meet some guy to talk about another guy he has to go drive to and see and talk some more. And, hey, did Carter even like his brother? No. A gangster film should be watched leaned in, eyes ready for the next blast of violence, not spent studying the bloke under the shepherd’s cap wondering, Now who’s he? The ending, though, knocks you back into the seat. If only all that came previous were as direct. B-

Repulsion (1965)

Roman Polanski has done far more film-wise to make apartments the living embodiment of psychological hell on Earth than anyone alive, and saying his low-budget English-language debut “Repulsion” stands above “Tenant” or “Rosemary’s Baby” is one massive compliment. Catherine Denevue plays Carol, a manicurist living with her aloof sister in London, zombie shuffling to and from work, staring at sidewalk cracks, and from her bedroom to the loo, staring at the razor of sister’s (married) sugar daddy. She glazes out, does not talk, and fears the leers or touch of any man. In quick succession, a suitor comes on strong and her sister leaves for vacation, acts that push Carol off her ledge into shocking hallucinations and depraved acts. Carol has a past that purges out at the finale as we learn her hellish torture is not over by half. Polanski works with brimstone, fear, and one hell of an actress, laying the way for the nightmares of “Baby,” his horror masterpiece of stifled women. Sick irony or inevitable that Polanski had his own misogynistic demons to spew years later? A near-unbearable must-watch classic that left me gasping, and spawned the recent dark daughter of “Black Swan.” A+

Ginger and Rosa (2013)

In 1962 London BFF girls “Ginger and Rosa” (Elle Fanning of “Super 8” and newcomer Alice Englert) do that teen thing that many teens do: Piss on chores and curfew, dabble in romances, and smoke. They also strain under paranoia from the Cuban Missile Crisis and a far closer atomic bomb of the emotional kind involving Ginger’s anarchist dad and fragile mom (Alessandro Nivola and Christina Hendricks). Despite the obvious turn, I won’t spill details, but director/writer Sally Potter (“Orlando”) lights the fuse early. Porter has a beautiful-looking film here, picture-wise, and perfects the myriad details of teens from clothes to petty jealousies. But it’s also top heavy with too many Jiminy Crickets for Ginger. Annette Bening plays a leftist with no purpose in life but to dispel advise to our gal, and the same is true of Ginger’s gay godparents (Timothy Spall and Oliver Platt). More so, the only time a radio plays, it bears only doom and gloom like some Orsen Welles production. (TV, movies, nor newspapers figure at all.) All that said, Fanning is spectacular, a Yank going Brit on screen, and as flawlessly as Streep did Thatcher. B

Skyfall (2012)

James Bond is back in form in “Skyfall” after the dive that was “Quantum of Solace,” a film as meaningless as its title. This third in the Daniel Craig series nearly equals 2006’s “Casino Royale,” the best of the 007 series since the Connery days. The plot: A mystery man from M’s (Judi Dench) past is plunging MI6 and London into chaos, unveiling secret agents and blowing HQ to chunks. The weapons of death and madness are not nukes or giant lasers hidden in volcanoes, but laptops; the trigger is the [ENTER] button. The sword cuts both ways: Both the villain (Javier Bardem, sexually ambiguous in an Oscar-worthy turn) and the new Q (Ben Whishaw) both hawk hacking as their life’s trade, setting old-fashioned Bond off his game. Craig as Bond is at his best when thrown off, clawing back from the dead and irrelevance. The admittedly comic-book plot mechanics clank, but director Sam Mendes (“Road to Perdition”) and his writers invoke the Connery era as if were Scripture, pulling a “You Only Live Twice” stunt and a ’64 Aston Martin homage, and then set a new path for the 50-year-old franchise by tearing down its past. A-

Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011)

Director Guy Ritchie’s 2009 “Sherlock Holmes,” with Yank actor Robert Downey Jr. playing the Brit detective, was an entertaining farce that tripped too far into the superhero arena. The Ritchie-directed sequel “Game of Shadows” gallops full force into silly Hollywood cliches with “top this” action pieces minced into slow-mo chunks of film that may irritate even the most Ritalin-deprived viewer. A third-act chase through a forest sticks out as the sorest thumb, smashed by Ritchie’s antic edits. Ditch the deerstalker hat and get this Sherlock a cape as Holmes’ pipe, careful contemplations, and witty word play are for the most part dumped in lieu of a 007-worthy plot involving arch-nemesis Moriarty (a ho-hum Jared Harris) as the instigator of a 1890s European war that plays out too broadly and with inane clues (to the winery!) that reek weak. Worse, great actress Noomi Rapace (the Swedish “Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” and “Prometheus”) is stuck glaring in silence as Downey along with Jude Law as Watson ham up literature’s oldest bro-mance, making this outing shrivel under the shadow of greater Holmes adaptations, including the stellar BBC modern-day-set mind-fuck “Sherlock.” C

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011) – A Second Look

I reviewed Thomas Alfredson’s “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” in January, calling it a good film, moody, with an overly complicated plot. Not worthy of a Top 10 for 2011. I just saw it again, and fell spellbound by how Alfredson frames his characters within windows, library stacks, doorways, and gates, every character boxed in, objects cut off, by the life they lead: Serving queen and country as spies. It’s the smartest, most intense spy film I’ve seen in years, taking away every thrill we expect in a spy flick. It’s a marvelous move from Alfredson, who has taken the classic novel – I’m re-reading it right now – and reworked into a drama about men not just battling the enemy, but each other for “treasure.” Absolutely perfect is Benedict Cumberbatch’s soul-crushed homosexual, dispatching his live-in boyfriend for career and country. That wasn’t in the book. Gary Oldman, as the fired spy tasked with finding a mole, marveled me all over, as a man who has spent so long repressing his own life and wife, he is left horrified at his loneliness. Give the man an Oscar. Absolutely one of 2011’s best. A

Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

I read John Le Carre’s “Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy” long ago, and was stoked for a film version. That I barely remembered the plot helped. I was not bogged down as I watched Gary Oldman almost wordlessly soar to his best screen performance as the aging/defeated/solemn George Smiley, a spy who realizes his life was pissed away trying to dig up shit intel on the Russkies. The story: Oldman’s Smiley is tasked with finding a mole in The Circus, MI:6. His suspects include fellow spooks so high up, they hold onto power with an Iron Fist, their noses up the rear of the American CIA. As with many of 2011’s best films, this is a story of a person taking stock of his life and lost chances. This is a dark, grimy, and quiet film, startled with bloody violence. You can feel this film waft off the screen -- the dust and tweed jackets, and stink of a rotting body. The mood is by director Thomas Alfredson, the woefully hurried complex screenplay by the late Bridget O'Connor and Peter Straughan, a married couple. This is no feel-good “Mission: Impossible” thriller, but a spy-mood killer, and a damn good one. A-

The Long Good Friday (1980)

“The Long Good Friday” is an absolute pinnacle classic gangster film in the U.K., place of my birth. Here in the States, not so much. It may not have glory and prestige of “The Godfather” or “Goodfellas,” but it belongs in the same esteemed crime family. This is a hard-scrapple bitchin’ bloody mafia flick about a common London mafia thug who has risen to the level of Godfather, and now he wants to go legit.

It’s 1979, and in several years’ time, the city is expected to play host to the Olympics. (It’s fictional, youz guys.) Harold Shand (Bob Hoskins) wants to buy up London’s real estate abutting the Thames River for development, with promised riches beyond compare to come. His investors? The American Mob. Guy ain’t going legit, just thinks he is, or tells us he is. Oh, but the IRA is bugging about, as one of his men has double-crossed them, and ended up knifed in a gay bathhouse.

The title is on purpose. It’s a long and bloody Easter weekend when Shant’s mob life goes to a violent hell, with bombings, murders, and threats galore, and one man will end up nailed Jesus-style to a floor. Hopkins has never been better or scarier, or more volatile, you can smell the brimstone coming off the guy through the TV set. When he rips a man’s throat apart with a broken whiskey bottle, it’s still a shocker, even on a 10th viewing. (I love this film.)

Helen Mirren is just amazing as Shants’ girlfriend-slash-brutal brains of the mob operation; every equal smarts to Hopkins’ brutality. She has to be one of the greatest actresses ever, period, end of story. Royally good. I will not stoop to a “Queen” joke, err, damn. Sorry.

The film starts off a puzzle box, with seemingly random scenes of dealings and bar hook ups and body dumps, all coming together at the end, in a wordless climax that should have won Hopkins an Oscar and can stand aside any scene in the more well-known films made by Coppola or Scorsese. Scotsman John Mackenzie is the director. He never made a better film and he died without merely a blip in the news this past June. Criminal indeed. (I cannot say I have seen his other work.)

Oh, and bonus points for “Remington Steele” and James Bond fans, this is Piece Brosnan’s first film rule, and he plays a wordless assassin who goes from man-on-man bathhouse shower action, I mean the kind that would send GOP voters into shock, to killer in a flash. But, hey, he uses a gun, so GOP voters will dig that, eh? Seriously, if you dig crime film, watch this, then put it in your collection. A+

Spider (2002)

David Cronenberg’s “Spider” is a somber-as-ash take on a man bowed by schizophrenia that dares to not provide a miracle ending with “Big Movie Climax!” stamped in red ink. There is no escape here from the dark. We first see Dennis Cleg (Ralph Fiennes) deboard a London train, alone, shuffling, mumbling, his vital possessions – money and directions to a boarding house – stuffed in a sock. Dennis was raised in the neighborhood of his new home, and there he wonders – in his mind, for real, one does not know for sure – back to his 1950s youth with a mercurial father (Gabriel Byrne) and dotting mother (Miranda Richardson). Here’s where the spider’s web starts to form as we, through Dennis’ barely functioning mind, piece together a murder. In present day, the murk darkens as the dead mother seems to live on. Fiennes never budges from Dennis’ inner turmoil, his every move made with fear of punishment, and it’s a brilliant performance. Cronenberg traps us in Dennis’ world, itself trapped inside London’s dark-as-hell industrial gas district, which seems to exist in the same realm as David Lynch’s “Eraserhead,” another story with a narrator not only unreliable but quite mad. A-

Another Year (2010)

Few filmmakers portray life as real as Mike Leigh, and “Another Year” feels not so much like a movie, but an invite to stay with the family who’s at the center of this drama. Ruth Sheen and Jim Broadbent play a married couple, perfectly content with gardening, eating and reading in bed. She’s a counselor. He’s a geologist. They invites family and friends to a handful of dinners during the course of a year, including a divorcee (Lesley Manville) crumbling under loneliness who gulps wine as if it is an antidote, and an equally lonely old school chum (Oliver Maltman) who holds onto wine bottles as if they were oxygen. Alcohol equals life in this film. The main couple enjoys it as a side to the wonderful dishes they whip up. Take it or leave it. Manville and Maltman are full-fledged alcoholics, drowning their miseries in wine and all the more miserable for it. There’s not a false word, performance or scene in this drama that lays bare the jealousy that the miserable feel toward the happy. Manville should have won an Oscar. Fact. A

Mona Lisa (1986)

The crime noir film “Mona Lisa” put writer/director Neil Jordan on the map, giving him the power to make “The Crying Game.” The latter is a classic tale of an IRA terrorist who meets a woman not … well, you must see it. It’s mesmerizing, erotic, shocking, violent, bold and completely unforgettable. “Mona Lisa”? It’s all of those adjectives, but at half pace. Bob Hoskins is a Z-grade mobster just released from prison, and expecting gratitude from his boss (Michael Caine) and family. He’s wrong on both counts. George is instead stuck driving a high-class call girl (Cathy Tyson) to and from appointments. Of course he falls for her. And, of course, she has a heart of gold. Even art-house movies have rules. Hoskins kills. No other actor can do seething angry Limey as well as Hoskins. Tyson’s Lady of the Night is so kindly, I just did not buy her. So to speak. Jordan employs a great music and a gritty dark humor. I know every critic loves this film. me? Eh. B

Incendiary (2008)

“Incendiary” is the most insulting, exploitive film I’ve seen to tackle Islamic terrorism and mass death. It’s an awkward, miserable watch barely saved by Michelle Williams’ performance, which itself sinks to hysterical wailing. Williams plays a London mom, devoted to her child, but unhappily married to a bomb squad technician. At a bar one night, she meets a rich (!) investigative reporter (Ewan McGregor) who takes her home. They screw. When he comes to her place days later, they do it again. During, she watches the telly as her boy and hubby die in a stadium bombing. The silly title is partial literal as mom starts a diary – get it? – as if it were written to Bin Laden. “Incendiary” sinks into its own asshole with hubby’s boss announcing his love to the destroyed woman, McGregor stalking her with notepads, government conspiracies, and all sorts of nonsense too ridiculous to repeat. Every other minute, the film becomes more sensationalistic and sickly insipid. The most grievous sin: A happy ending that made me sneer. D

Children of Men (2006)

“Children of Men’ is the movie 1984’s “Nineteen Eighty Four” wanted to be. It takes the DNA of P.D. James’ stellar dystopian sci-fi novel of the same name, and runs in a vastly different, but fascinating, direction.

On its bleak surface, it’s a nightmare about the collapse of civilization. Dig deep and pay attention, and it is apparent that director Alfonso Cuaron has made the redemptive film of our time, outpacing Mel Gibson’s torture-porn film, “The Passion of the Christ” by miles. "Children" also is one of the most pro-life films ever made despite the shocking violence. It is one of the best films of this young century.

Its 2027, London. The world has de-evolved into madness. No children have been born for 18+ years. The world’s youngest person has been stabbed to death. New York City has been obliterated. Entire nations have fallen. And the coffee shop that cubicle office worker Theo Faron (Clive Owen, robbed of an Oscar) has just walked out of explodes in a fireball. Theo drops his coffee cup. This is in the first amazing 5 minutes of “Children.” The film gets better, and remains mysterious. We never learn the cause of the infertility, and that unknown is vital. The unknown is ... vital. A must.

Faron is a dead walking soul who doesn’t give a fuck, living in a world that’s dying. Not even the sudden appearance of his radical ex-wife (Julianne Moore) spurs him to life. When she asks him for a favor – to help ferry a young African woman to safety – his only interest is money. In a quick scene of shocking violence along a rural highway, Theo’s world is turned upside down. I can’t give away the plot details here, but slowly and viciously, every one and thing in his life is ripped away. Even his shoes. As the film marches to its climax, though, Theo gains purpose. He finds his life and hope in a land of darkness.

Cuaron and his screenwriters use every ripped-from-the-headlines source they can, turning England into a Euro-Iraq, torn apart by terrorism. Mixed in are anti-immigrant mantras, Homeland Security and hate as a government-led religion and mafia, religious strife, privileged art collectors, and satisfaction guaranteed suicide pills.

That’s why this film is not just great, but masterful. It’s twisted mirror of our own existence, where some Fox News bonehead can tout his Christian faith in one breathe and call for the death of all Muslims in the next. I’m talking about O’Reilly, here. I’m not one to wax on about religion or church, but this truly seems to be the opposite approach: Love so strong, it's a sacrifice. In a world of madness, it’s the most lost soul who can save us.

The film's final chapter is among the greatest I've ever experienced. Heart-breaking, hopeful, shockingly violent, and unforgettable. Listen to that laughter. A+